The Return (Titan 1)

The wind was whipping down through the valley, tossing my hair back from my face. I hunched my shoulders, keeping my chin down as I stepped out from under the stone awning, not paying attention to the array of students hanging out at the entrance or lounging on the benches. On a good day, I was easily distracted, but when I became nervous or stressed, everything was a bright, shiny object and I had the attention span of a goldfish. I couldn’t afford getting lured into a conversation and inevitably missing class.

I followed the path around the neatly landscaped park. On nicer, warmer days, I’d spent time studying under the large, black oak trees. The campus was truly beautiful. It was one of the reasons why I’d enrolled.

That, and no one knew who I was here, or who my mother was.

Folding my arms more tightly across my chest, I’d just reached the halfway point when I felt something…something weird and familiar and definitely unwanted. It started off as a shiver exploding at the base of my spine and then shimmying up. The odd tremor spread over the nape of my neck, dancing along my shoulders. Tiny hairs rose all over my body, and my feet somehow got tangled with the flat ground. I tripped as unease bloomed in the pit of my belly like a noxious weed determined to take over.

I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze darting across the swaying branches and the benches, but I didn’t see anything abnormal. Students were everywhere, talking in groups, doing their own thing, but I couldn’t shake the distinct feeling of eyes on me, drilling into my skin, muscle, and bone.

But no one was paying a damn bit of attention to me. They never were, when I had these feelings. It was all in my head.

Picking up my pace, I couldn’t outrun the unease that was steadily growing into a pungent, bitter ball of panic in the back of my throat. My heart picked up, pushing my pulse into cardiac workout territory, and I could feel the sweat dotting my palms.

“Crap,” I muttered.

I stopped, forcing myself to draw in several deep, slow breaths, but pressure clamped down on my chest. The shivers extended up the back of my skull. Was this it? A warning symptom? Was this how it’d started for Mom? A bunch of studies linked genes to mental illness. There was roughly a twenty-five percent chance I would develop schizophrenia. And I was in the right age group for the onset of the disease.

I’m not getting sick. I’m not getting sick.

Closing my eyes, I wrapped a trembling hand around the strap of my book bag. This was not a symptom of a mental disorder. I was just tired. Stressed. I was totally okay. Everything would be fine.

It had to be.

Turned out, I made it to class on time and was able to focus during the lecture, so I figured I was prepared for the exam on Friday. When Jesse Colbert, another psych major who took a bunch of classes with me, lingered in the seat beside me while I gathered up my stuff, I tried not to act like a total goober.

He was a tall guy, around my age, with hair as dark as polished obsidian. Good looking. Nice. Great cheekbones. Really cute and always had an easy smile on his face. Awesome hands. I had a thing for male hands for some reason and his hands—rough, masculine, long-fingered. I liked them.

Pulling my thoughts away from my weird semi-fetish, I forced what I hoped wasn’t a creepy smile. “Hey.”

Grabbing his books, he sent a slight grin in my direction. “We still on for tomorrow night?”

Standing, I shoved the massive text into my bag. “Yep. It’s a date…” My brain winced, backpedaling away from that comment. “I mean, not a date date. Like going out and stuff. Dinner. Whatever.” Feeling my cheeks burn, I focused on the corner of his shoulder. “Study date, but without any real dating stuff.”

Oh my God, I needed to shut up, because this was why I never got a date date. Oh Lord, now my face was really burning, because I was standing in front of Jesse thinking about why I was still a virgin. I wish my brain had an off switch.

He watched me through the whole ridiculous ramble, and when I finally clamped my mouth shut, he chuckled. “Yeah, I know, Josie. See you tomorrow at six?”

“Yeah. Six. In the evening, right?” Shoot me in the head. Please? “Of course. Perfect.”

He hesitated, and then with his grin lifting up the corners of his lips, he wheeled around. Sighing, I mentally listed the ways I was the Queen of All Dorks as I headed out the door. I made a pit stop in the restroom, mostly so I could put off calling my grandparents for a few more minutes. I wasn’t ready to hear what I already knew, and I hated that, because it made me a coward. But I washed my hands twice, worked a tiny brush through my wind-tousled hair, reapplied my lip-gloss, and then moseyed out into the hall. Classes had already started up and I headed to the closest stairwell, letting the door swing shut behind me. Thoughts once again focused on my mom and calling Granny. I needed to get this over with. I tugged my bag around and reached in for my phone.

I have no idea how what happened next went down.

Only a few steps from the second-floor landing, a cold blast of air whipped up from the floor below, shooting right through me, strong enough to startle me. I reached out to grip the railing as my bag slipped off my shoulder, hit the step by my foot, and then bounced its way down to the landing.

What in the world?

For several seconds, I stared at my bag and then I looked over my shoulder. I had no clue what I expected to see standing there— maybe Casper the pervy ghost or something? A little wigged out, I turned around and almost fell backward out of shock.

A guy stood in front of me. Well, he wasn’t standing. He was bending down to pick up my bag. But how in the world did he get there? I hadn’t heard anyone walk up the stairs, and there was no way anyone could get up them that fast in the first place…unless he’d sprouted wings and flown up the stairs, but I didn’t think that was likely.

I could only see half of him, and even from that, I could tell he was tall. I wasn’t a small girl, coming in close to five foot nine, but this guy would make me feel…dainty standing next to him.

A deep-brown henley stretched taut over broad shoulders and extremely well-defined upper arms. Blond hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck by a brown leather band. Shorter strands had slipped free, obscuring his face as long fingers wrapped around the strap of my bag.

Oh my, my—he had beautiful hands.

His skin was golden, all the way up to where the sleeves were pushed up his forearms. I’d never seen a complexion like that. It wasn’t tanned, but something else. My breath floated up my throat, and then stopped as he straightened.